


What's Wrong with Vintage?

by nervousfrnk



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Surprise Kissing, aka frank cries: the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11644569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousfrnk/pseuds/nervousfrnk
Summary: There was a reason Gerard had never seen a high school photo of Frank. He'd buried that version of himself in a ditch somewhere; it was only a matter of time before Gerard dug it out.





	What's Wrong with Vintage?

"Frank." Something poked his side; it felt suspiciously like Gerard's finger. " _Frank_. Wake up, asshole."

And Frank snuggled deeper into the couch's embrace, because he really _was_ an asshole. He wanted to open his eyes, just to see the look on Gerard's face - the one that very clearly said "you're a rat and I hate you." But he was committed to the role, so he kept them shut tight.

There was a (fairly annoyed) sigh before Gerard said, "Fine. I'll look through this without you, then."

Okay, consider Frank intrigued.

He half-opened an eye, rolling it around until he found Gerard's blurry outline. His boyfriend was leaning against the sofa's armrest, flipping through something that gave Frank unexplainable bad vibes. Bad enough to make him lift his head and ask, "What's that?"

"One of your old yearbooks," Gerard replied, turning to give him an innocent look.

Shit.

That was all the information Frank needed. He sat upright so fast that he nearly got a whiplash. It didn't help that he was going from comatose on his side to hardcore survival mode in five seconds - lightheaded and half-conscious, he practically catapulted himself towards Gerard, who let out a mildly concerned "what the _fuck?_ "

Frank made a grab for the yearbook, but Gerard was faster: he held it high above his head, and Frank nearly burst into tears, because this was so _unfair_. He wasn't even 100% awake yet.

Luckily for him, Gerard was an honest player; he could tell when Frank wasn't at his best. (This was confirmed when he almost fell backwards and cracked his head open, only for Gerard's hands to hook under his armpits and reel him back in.)

"Jesus Christ, Frank." Gerard steered his dizzy boyfriend back to the sofa, sitting him down as gently as possible. "What's your fucking problem?"

Frank didn't reply right away - he was too busy trying to blink away nausea and black dots. Standing up too fast should be a federal crime, he decided, _especially_ when you've just woken up.

Eventually he reached the point where his brain wasn't all scrambled and shitty; the first thing he did upon reaching said point was look up at Gerard, who was standing there with a very worried look on his face.

That's when Frank remembered the yearbook. Which wasn't in Gerard's hands anymore.

"Where did you-?" he began, voice rising as the anxiety mounted - it didn't take long for Frank to realize that it was on the couch beside him. He snatched up the hellbook and held it tight against his middle, curling around it like an animal protecting its young.

Its embarrassing, decade-old young.

Gerard didn't say anything at first. He just smiled really soft and slow before taking a seat beside Frank, sitting cross-legged on one of the sofa's sad, lumpy cushions. Frank eyed him suspiciously the entire time, still clinging to the yearbook like it was the Holy Grail.

"Frank? Baby..?" Gerard reached out, squeezing Frank's shoulder in a way that made him melt a little; with that one touch, all his muscles started to loosen. _Damn him_. "Hey. Look at me."

Frank obeyed, lifting his head until he was staring at Gerard and Gerard was staring right back, eyes all warm and gentle and _goddamn it_ , Frank really hated him. He'd never win. Ever.

"Are you gonna tell me why I can't see that book?"

 _No_ , thought Frank. _Fuck off_.

"C'mon, Frank. Talk to me here." Gerard scooted closer. "You know you can."

 _NO_ , thought Frank, louder this time. The yearbook's corners dug into him as he pressed it tighter against himself, hoping it would disappear if he squeezed it hard enough. _Go away, asshole_.

But then Gerard was touching him again, caressing his thigh, and it was all over. Frank was uncoiling; melting. "It's just... embarrassing."

"What's embarrassing?" Gerard asked. His frown was genuine.

"All of it. High school was just one big fucking embarrassment." Frank was sitting upright now, no longer wrapped around his cargo like a possessive snake. Instead it was in his lap; he thoughtfully traced the huge _1998_ printed on the cover. "I'm just afraid you'll see me from back then and... I don't know. Not like me as much?"

" _Frank_. You're kidding me, right?" Gerard was staring at him in a way that made the embarrassment multiply. "You honestly think a couple of high school photos will change how I feel about you? That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

Some part of Frank knew he was right. But it was a small, secret part that he rarely paid attention to. "Are you _sure_ you want to look at it?"

"I'm positive." Gerard held out a hand; with shaking, sweaty fingers, Frank passed him the yearbook, sirens going off in his head the entire time. They only got louder when Gerard opened the front cover.

"C'mere," he murmured, patting the space beside him. "We'll look through it together."

 _That's a horrible idea_ , said Frank's brain.

"Okay," said Frank's mouth, forever his greatest enemy; he scooted over until his chin was resting on Gerard's shoulder, trying his best to ignore the nausea eating away at his insides. This wasn't the end of the world. People take walks down memory lane all the time.

Granted, those same people probably look back on high school with fondness instead of world-crushing dread and horror.

Definitely not the best years of his life.

"Weren't you a senior in 1998?" Gerard's question sent Frank hurtling back to the present day, where his boyfriend was looking at him expectantly. He thought about lying, telling him that he actually dropped out of high school freshman year and never went back. Or he could spin some bullshit about missing picture day, even though there were multiple photos of him in that damned book.

But this was Gerard, the one person he _wanted_ to be honest with, no matter how embarrassing the truth was. So he just sighed and said, "Yeah."

Gerard smiled and started flipping his way through the yearbook, eyes skimming the pages with genuine enthusiasm. He was _enthusiastic_ about this. Unbelievable.

Frank closed his eyes, buried his face in Gerard's neck, and waited.

There was a moment of gut-wrenching silence before Gerard quite happily announced, "Aha. Here we go." He squeezed Frank's thigh. "Found you, Frankenstein."

And with that, Frank started preparing himself for the worst. A laugh or a snort or a comment on how much of a _loser_ he used to be - still was, actually. It was his permanent state. But at least now he could cover it up with tattoos and cigarette smoke and shit.

He continued to wait on some form of mockery, face still smushed against Gerard's skin. It was a two-for-one deal, in a way - not only was his view of the yearbook blocked, but the pink infecting his cheeks was hidden from sight as well.

Plus Gerard smelled really good, which was always comforting.

"C'mon, Frank. Quit bein' such a baby." Despite the bullying, Gerard's voice was so soft and sweet that Frank nearly burst into tears for the second time that day. "There's nothing to be scared of, I promise."

"I'm not fuckin' scared. Or a baby," Frank mumbled into his neck. Because he wasn't. He _wasn't_.

"Then _look_."

Frank slowly raised his head, ears buzzing and heart doing a drum solo. He knew this entire thing was ridiculous - the way he was acting. As if he was the only person on earth who avoided the past at all costs.

He looked.

And yep, there he was, age eighteen. Maybe seventeen? Either way, he looked just as nervous and chubby as he remembered.

Frank stole a look at Gerard, who was... smiling? It wasn't a nasty smile, either - it was wistful and fond and so goddamn kind. "Aww. You were so cute. Look at that fucking face."

 _Oh, god_.

"Frank? Holy shit. You're shaking. I didn't mean to- oh, Frankie. Oh, baby, please don't cry," he begged, guilt practically oozing from his pores as hot tears swelled in Frank's eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't realize- we can stop. I'll put this back, okay?"

"Don't," Frank choked out, shaking his head and grabbing Gerard's arm before he could stand up. "It's just- you're being so... so _nice_."

Gerard stared at him, clearly at a loss. "I'm a little confused. Should I be an asshole instead, or..?"

"No. I didn't mean- _fuck_. You being nice isn't a _bad_ thing," Frank said, incapable of forming sentences and wiping away tears at the same time. "I just wasn't expecting it. That's all."

Realization crept across Gerard's face, making his eyes soften. "You thought I was gonna make fun of you, huh?"

"Maybe? I dunno." Frank picked at one of the couch's many stains, trying to keep his sniffles to a minimum. Gerard, being the hypersensitive fuck that he was, caught every single one; he opened up his arms in a way that said _get over here, you idiot_.

Once given an invitation, Frank readily abandoned the stain and crawled into his lap, eyes closed and cheek pressed against Gerard's chest. He was pretty much done crying at that point, but his brain was still a scattered mess of emotions; being held was a necessary step towards feeling better.

And it worked, too: after a good seven minutes of Gerard mumbling sweet things while nuzzling the top of his head, Frank felt way less shitty. He felt so much better that when Gerard asked if there were any other pictures of him in the yearbook, he nodded right away.

"Can you show me? Vintage stuff like this is my fucking kryptonite."

"Whatever you say," Frank said with a snort, sitting up a little straighter so he could grab the book. Gerard watched over Frank's shoulder as he flipped through it with semi-shaky hands, obviously not 100% convinced that his own boyfriend wouldn't judge him.

Which was stupid, Gerard decided. Really fucking stupid. But being stupidly insecure was something he suffered from himself, so he didn't have the right to be annoyed.

"Here's one," Frank announced, pointing to a somewhat grainy shot of him in a suit. Gerard secretly cursed the cameras of 1998 - it wasn't fair that the quality was shitty _and_ it was in black and white.

But hey, at least the photo existed. That alone made up for everything else.

"'Senior Frank Iero'," he read aloud, grateful for captions and the context that they provided. "'Vice-president of Amnesty Club.' I have no fucking clue what that means but I'm still proud of your past self."

"It was a human rights thing," Frank explained, leaning forward to study the picture closer. "I think I was about to give a speech."

"Please tell me your mom recorded it."

"No," Frank replied, turning to glare at him. "She didn't."

Gerard shook his head. "I don't believe you. The footage is probably buried in a ditch somewhere, and it's _my_ job to find it. I'll search until the day I die."

The glare instantly lost its heat. "At least you're committed." He waited a few seconds before tacking on a quiet "fucker."

"Of course I'm committed," Gerard said, poking Frank's thigh; making him laugh. "You're my fucking boyfriend."

"But I wasn't when this was taken," Frank pointed out, tapping the picture of him in a suit.

His words turned Gerard's face thoughtful. He spent the next twenty seconds studying the photo with a smile that gradually got bigger and happier. "I totally would've taken you to prom."

"Yeah right."

"Hey." Gerard cut him off mid-snort. "I'm serious."

Frank's stare made his shock quite clear; Gerard looked him dead in the eye and went on, "I would've picked you up in my fucking Subaru and taken your cute little ass to prom."

Silence. And then, "Why?"

"If I love you now, why wouldn't I have loved you back then?"

The shock was morphing into something else. Discomfort, maybe? Yeah. Definitely discomfort. "I don't know. I looked - I _was_ \- different."

"I mean... no shit? This yearbook's a decade old, Frank," Gerard replied slowly. "Of course you've changed. No one's the same person they were in high school. But that doesn't mean you should hate your eighteen-year-old self. It's pointless and fucked up."

Frank knew he was about to start crying again, so he decided to channel his feelings into an act of physical affection: promptly dropping the yearbook, he twisted around until he was straddling Gerard's thighs and kissed him.

It was clumsy and rough and so goddamn full of _love_ , Jesus Christ, he was bursting at the seams with it. Tattooed fingers curled tight around fistfuls of Gerard's t-shirt, anchoring him there as Gerard groaned hot and wet against his mouth. The sound of it swelled behind Frank's eyes, making his nerves buzz and sing; by that point he was shaking so hard that you'd think he was falling apart.

Gerard gripped Frank by the shoulders in an attempt to steady him, running the pads of his thumbs along his collarbone. Frank melted in his hands, the kiss going from nervous and rabid to sweet and lazy in a matter of seconds.

That's when Gerard leaned back, making Frank whine like he was in pain.

"Sorry," Gerard murmured, the corners of his swollen mouth twitching. "I just can't believe I'm kissing the vice-president of the Amnesty Club. This is a dream come true."

"I fucking hate you."

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written/posted any fic in over a year so i figured i'd ease back into it with something short and sweet. hopefully i did okay lmao


End file.
